


collecting tomorrows

by plaincrepe



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ficlet Collection, I ship Kyoutani and FamiChiki, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaincrepe/pseuds/plaincrepe
Summary: a collection of meetings.Kyoutani Kentarou and Yahaba Shigeru meet each other.Again, and again.
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. Soulmate AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, it’s just a flicker of what feels like a memory, one that passes him by, so unnoteworthy that he can’t remember. He’s outside a bar, dark with high furnished tables, the walls lined with bottles of drinks, and he spots someone smoking, a flash of silver hair just outside the bar. He doesn’t really catch the way he looks through the blur, but he remembers the impression of a face, arched brows and sharp eyes, and something inside him which just wants to keep looking, before he’s pulled back to consciousness. 
> 
> Kyoutani Kentarou meets Yahaba Shigeru in world where soulmates meetings come as prophetic dreams.

Kyoutani knows the whole soulmate thing, people go to sleep and they dream about their soulmates. He never gave it much thought - he hears the dreams are hazy at most, and people are strange about it as they always are about everything under the streaky blue sky. As far as he’s concerned, they only get in the way of actual rest and a good night of well earned sleep, and he’s never had any use for them. 

Then he starts to dream. 

At first, it’s just a flicker of what feels like a memory, one that passes him by, so unnoteworthy that he can’t remember. He’s outside a bar, dark with high furnished tables, the walls lined with bottles of drinks, and he spots someone smoking, a flash of silver hair just outside the bar. He doesn’t really catch the way he looks through the blur, but he remembers the impression of a face, arched brows and sharp eyes, and something inside him which just wants to keep looking, before he’s pulled back to consciousness. It’s a weird feeling, but when he goes back to sleep straight after checking his phone, the memory breaks away, like cotton candy in his mouth. He remembers the feeling of dreaming, but shrugs it off, and prepares for another day at work, a blessed Friday, a monotonous drone of white noise and pointless responsibilities. 

\--

That night, they all go to drinks after work. His coworkers drag him to a little bar that’s a little out of the way, and when he enters, he has a vague sense of something that’s neither here nor there, and he grimaces at the feeling. He eyes the interior carefully, his brain clutching at clouds as he watches the rest of his coworkers head to the bar before Watari catches up to him. 

“Why don’t we see if we can sort the seating out,” he says, smiling amicably. 

“Sure,” Kyoutani shrugs. 

He likes Watari a moderate amount, and he’s the only person he knows well enough in this group enough to be called a “work friend” so he’s almost glad that Watari is the one settled with him. He knows everyone else is still a little wary of him, so he tries to keep to himself as much as possible because he knows how everyone else usually reacts. The one blessed aspect of these work meetings is that everyone is in the Fast Pass lane to getting intoxicated, or gunning for a possible raise, and Kyoutani’s only streak of luck is his heavy tolerance. They’re all settled into the square-shaped seating arrangement, and the table piled high with sake, beer and snacks, everyone a cup away from early hospitalization. It’s not like he minds the gatherings, but there’s only that much he can negotiate in terms of pay before everyone else starts to black out, so Kyoutani excuses himself politely to get another pack of cigarettes from the vending machine outside. Watari catches his eye and stands up to accompany him to the entrance of the bar. 

“It’s always like this isn’t it?” he says, and Kyoutani runs a hand over his head in unspoken frustration. 

“Yeah, just need a bit of a breather.” 

“Always a good idea with these events,” Watari agrees easily, before someone else clatters closer to them, and Kyoutani turns. 

“Ah Watari!” Silver hair. 

Watari brightens, and clasps the outstretched hand of the man while Kyoutani panics and stares. 

He isn’t quite sure what’s happening, sounds are passing, mouths are moving, and Watari looks to be engaged in some professional conversation, but there’s very little processing happening in his slightly intoxicated mind as he stares down the man with the pale silver hair. His smile is razor thin across his pale skin, charm oozes from his carefully coiffed hair. Brown eyes, cold and sharp. Kyoutani thinks he’s forgotten to breathe. Although the man is facing Watari, Kyoutani is almost worried about the integrity of his ribs, as if they will shatter from the force of his heart slamming against it. The man has eyes that never stop moving, calculating as he pats down his jacket for a name card, hands too precise, and he laughs, a tinkle that sounds too cheerful to be real. 

Kyoutani shakes his head as the world struggles to refocus as Watari turns back to him, patting his shoulder gently to draw his attention. 

“Oh sorry, Yahaba, I forgot to introduce you. This is Kyoutani, my coworker, we’re in the same department,” Watari says, and gestures to Kyoutani. 

“Kyoutani, this is Yahaba, he’s an old friend from high school,” Watari continues, and Yahaba laughs along. 

“We aren’t that old, Watari,” he says brightly, before turning to Kyoutani. 

“It’s good to meet one of Watari’s coworkers, I wondered what he was doing,” he says smoothly, and Kyoutani responds with a jerky nod, and Yahaba arches a brow at the silence. Kyoutani shoots an anxious look at Watari, who to his eternal credit, only looks a little nervous judging from the slight strain in his ever pleasant smile, barely noticeable under his constant calm demeanour. He opens his mouth. 

“H-”

“Watari! There you are!” A coworker exclaims, stumbling over to the entrance to latch onto Watari’s arm. 

“You have such gorgeous coworkers,” Yahaba says, moving closer to the coworker (Aomi? Aiko?), and he flashes another charming smile, winking, and she bites her lip and flushes. 

“W-watari, Matsukawa is actually calling for you,” she says, turning to Watari, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks coyly at Yahaba. Kyoutani turns his gaze to Yahaba, who rakes his eyes up and down Aomi or Aiko’s form shamelessly. 

“But we can come back right after that,” she adds quickly, flush deepening. Watari smiles sheepishly at Yahaba. 

“Duty calls huh. I’m so sorry Yahaba, I’ll be right back,” Watari says with an apologetic tone, and tugs the coworker away. Kyoutani lets out a string of curses in his head as Watari leaves. There’s a lot of things to be said right now, but he’s never been great at the general activity of talking, but also, watching Yahaba shamelessly flirt with a cute woman in front of him is. Well. He knows he has to confront this sooner rather than later, he knows he’s going to be haunted by whatever this is going to become, and he wonders if it’s worth just pretending they don’t know what’s happening. 

He wonders if Yahaba himself sleeps, looking at the deep creases under his eyes, if he’s one of those anti-fate sympathizers, who forgo sleep in order to avoid knowing their futures, scarred by bad incidents looming in their pasts. The string of words churning slowly in his head is cut off as Yahaba turns his gaze to Kyoutani, looking at him appraisingly as he fishes a cigarette and a small teal lighter out of his suit pocket. He clicks the lighter, once, twice, and the fire glows, casting a warm light on Yahaba’s face. 

“Mother ever taught you not to stare?” Yahaba asks lightly, and tucks his lighter away back into his pocket while the light on his cigarette glows red, paper pressed between his pink lips. 

“Your parents ever taught you not to be rude?” 

Yahaba chokes out a laugh as the smoke dissipates in the air. 

“Touche.” 

“You didn’t call me gorgeous.” 

“Because you aren’t.” 

Kyoutani shoots a glare at him, and Yahaba tilts his head, staring at his face. 

“Unfortunately, you’re the one I’ve been seeing in my dreams.” 

Kyoutani frowns in response. He wasn’t expecting romance, but it’s not the best way to start. 

“Guess so.” 

“I saw this bar, but I’ve never been here before,” he goes on. Kyoutani doesn’t deign the comment with an answer, fixing his stare to the lines on the floor at his feet. 

“But you saw me here.” 

“I did. Why did you flirt with the girl?” 

“So direct. Are you always like this?” Yahaba asks curiously, and tilts his head, silver strands of hair falling into his face as he gives Kyoutani a dry little smile.

“And if I did… What’s it to you?” he adds. 

Time feels fast, but with Yahaba it feels slower than it’s ever been, even slower than the last few crucial minutes of a volleyball match that goes on for too long. In a way, it’s strange, Kyoutani thinks, the way that the yellow street lights catch in his hair, the softness under the hazy gauze of a little too much alcohol, the harsh lines of his jaw and his clean cut nails, the way they’ve been haunting his dreams. Yahaba is strange, as he obscures clarity and communication with smoke and mirrors. 

“Can you not do that? Aren’t we supposed to be - you know,” Kyoutani says, scowling. 

“No, I won't stop,” Yahaba says airly, and takes another drag of his cigarette, lazily letting the smoke curl between his words. “Plus, who would pick you over a cute little thing like your coworker?” 

“You’re an asshole,” Kyoutani snaps back, and Yahaba waves away the words with a mocking smile, flicking the rest of the ash off his cigarette with his thumb. 

“Yes, I suppose I am.” 

Kyoutani takes a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his knuckles in silence. Yahaba is nothing like he’s expected, and he wants to try to make a concession before Yahaba opens his mouth again. 

“This was fun, but it’s time we stop the chit-chat.” 

“The only one shooting their mouth off was you,” he retorts, and Yahaba scoffs, smoke billowing around his face. 

“You’re not charming at all. But it doesn’t matter,” he says coldly, and draws himself up to his full height, looking down at Kyoutani. 

“Listen closely and I’ll tell you this once. Don’t contact me again,” he says. 

“Why?” Kyoutani says, meeting Yahaba’s gaze. 

“Because I don’t want anything else to do with you,” he says, cutting him off, and he blows the rest of the smoke directly into Kyoutani’s scowling face, his lips carefully formed around the words, his wry smile widening.  


“You may be my soulmate, but I will never be yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally written for kyouhaba day but evidently, late. 
> 
> i have always loved the idea of a soulmate au but ive been reading far too many doujins so this is a smidge of both. 
> 
> beta commentary:  
> Yahaba doesn't have parents, he was raised by feral wolves.  
> yahaba, angry at the gods.  
> yahaba "ill carve my own fate out with this knife" shigeru


	2. The Convenience Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yahaba works at a Family Mart. Kyoutani may be addicted to Family Mart Chicken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in another world, Yahaba Shigeru (20) works at the Family Mart that Kyoutani (17) frequents.

Yahaba frowns at the crack of heat that comes through from the opening of the automatic doors, as the ominous Family Mart jingle fills the store. Another group of schoolchildren flood in, their chatter infecting Yahaba’s quiet, and blissful moment of silence. 

Yahaba grinds his teeth behind the register and wishes Matsukawa into an early grave. The afternoon shift is as disgusting and chilling as he remembers, it’s everything he’s expected and worse, and frankly, he has no business being here if it wasn’t for Matsukawa’s mistake with his shift. After all, Yahaba belongs in the dark, with tired drunk salarymen in the dead of night, so he has enough time to do his own thing behind the counter whenever he wants, sneaking snacks behind the counter without anyone seeing him as they’re all in bed. All this is, is a humid, sunny afternoon, sun screeching through the glass windows to blind his eyes, while he’s forced to watch teenagers living their youthful school lives, terrorizing the store with their hopes, dreams and potential. 

He’s too old for this. 

Yahaba Shigeru, 20, part time combini worker and full time slave to tertiary education. 

It’s not all bad at least. Unlike some other jobs, his shifts at the convenience store are predictable and steady. Monotony is a blessed relief as he scans and bags the snacks for the high schoolers. Bag? Point card? Card? Receipt? Thank you for coming. Bow, rinse and repeat. He doesn’t miss this part of school, surrounded by The Youth, and despite whatever Watari says, he is in fact, better than everyone else. The clock ticks on, and he taps his fingers against the white plastic of the counter, the hum of the fridges and the machines running around him. He’s enjoying his little moment of blessed silence, one where he isn’t being forced to eavesdrop on another conversation about confessions, until he realizes there’s someone else who has just wandered in.

A kid, with hair bleached a horrific garish yellow, with bumblebee lines etched out from the sides, school bag slung on one shoulder, tie loose around his neck. Yahaba tries to hold back a snort. A blond delinquent from a private school. Yahaba thanks whatever gods are listening that he’s not in here with his gang, as he watches the kid make a beeline for the chicken display.

Kyoutani Kentaro, 17, Family Mart Chicken addict. 

Teenage boys, as a general rule of thumb, are largely unaware of themselves, and even more so of other people. Kyoutani fixes his gaze single mindedly on the seasoned piece of fried chicken behind the glazed glass windows, and nods to himself. 

Except he looks up, and sees Yahaba. 

There are two things that happen in the moment they meet eyes. Yahaba Shigeru feels another piece of his soul die inside. And Kyoutani Kentarou falls in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've never had family mart chicken, you're missing out. it's literally the best combini chicken. well, its the best fried chicken in the world tbh. 
> 
> there's probably more to this AU - but this is it so far.


	3. The Contracted Demon AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyoutani dabbles in magic. Yahaba is, well, not human.

Kyoutani awakes with a start. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” the man says, snapping the book shut and standing up to peer closer at him. Kyoutani reels back and looks around. It’s his apartment - the same tiny square with the bed pushed against the corner, a shitty cooktop, a small fridge and everything, except there is a fucking stranger with silver - who even has silver hair naturally - sitting at the edge of his bed. Kyoutani’s brain offers him a label: freak of nature, although he’s not entirely sure that nature was involved at any point in this whole situation. He might be missing a few pints of blood, but even his painfully inept brain could figure out that there was something very wrong, if the candles and salt runes on his floor were anything to go by - and the pool of blood. One couldn’t forget the blood. 

“Who the fuck are you,” he says, voice garbled. The stranger laughs, like an attempt to be reassuring, if not for the fact that it was very at odds with the glossy BDSM leather get-up strapped around his body, or the fact that his laugh sounded like it could kick puppies with the tone alone. 

“You know how you made that wish last night,” he says dryly, tapping the cover of his yellow paged book. 

Kyoutani can’t say he knows. 

“Uh.” 

“Where you wished for someone to keep you company?” 

Unlike his laugh, the stranger’s voice is unassumingly calm, smooth and polite, and he turns his eyes away from the page to offer Kyoutani an arched brow. While he waits, Kyoutani shrinks into the mattress, wracking his brain as he tries to figure out what exactly he’s signed himself up for. If anyone was to question him after this incident, he would deny that he wasn’t looking at the sheer black lace between the crevice of smooth looking, slender pale thighs.

The stranger scoffs.

“So, In accordance with section four in the handbook, company can often range from platonic companionship or any sexual fantasies, but it will have to be processed as an official contract within the week of the summoning. I have a copy of the handbook for you here, so please try to read this as soon as possible,” he says firmly, and hands Kyoutani the book. Kyoutani looks up, but the stranger looks at him with a mixture of thinly obscured irritation. 

“Do you read, or are you as fantastic as that as you are with talking?” the stranger asks, sounding awfully offended for someone who seemed to have shown up with the sole intention of single handedly ruining Kyoutani’s entire day. 

Kyoutani turns his attention to the book instead. The Official Handbook for Contracted Demons. 

Well that didn’t bode well. Or maybe well enough, since he’s probably won 10,000 yen but lost his soul. 

Scratch the day, this might be the rest of his fucking life. 

“You’re a real demon.”

A thin smile stretches razor thin across the demon’s face. 

Fuck, he thinks. Watari is definitely going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love the idea of demon yahaba with a pretty face, while kyoutani is just in over his head about what to do.

**Author's Note:**

> come chat to me on twitter: plaincrepe


End file.
